Artifact

Ray perked up. “We can also get the piece of the artifact from Selene.”

“True enough,” McKendry said. “But that’s not my primary objective.”

“Explain that to Frik,” Ray said.

“I don’t think I owe Frik an explanation for anything.”

“Okay, okay. God you’re jumpy.” Ray took a sip of coffee. “So what’s the plan?”

“Joshua and I made the acquaintance of the Venezuelan minister of security, a Señor Juan Ortega de la Vega Bruzual. We had a nice chat with him in Caracas. He wants to keep himself out of the news, especially with all the recent political turmoil, but Señor Bruzual would be very happy to bag these terrorists, put their heads on stakes as it were, and show them off to the world news media. He thinks it would demonstrate that the country is getting back on its feet after all the attempted coups and the economic disasters.”

Ray Arno pursed his lips. “Is he going to help?”

“Off the record, yes. We talked again after I called you.” Not an easy task without Joshua’s language skills, he thought. “He told me he’d provide a handful of mercenaries to join any attack squadron we put together. He said he’ll supply us with whatever we need. Weapons, matériel—”

“Good enough. But I want no killing except in self-defense. We could use two or three men who know the territory and speak the language. I want as few people as possible on the team, people I can trust and train.” He ran his fingers through his curly hair. McKendry wondered why he hadn’t noticed the gray before. “I think we should also track down Ma

McKendry grunted his assent. Ma

“Ma

“Sounds like he’ll be a major asset. The next question is, do you know where to find him?”

“I know he doesn’t carry a phone or have a listed number. I’ll start by contacting Peta and go from there. Better yet, I’ll take a quick trip to Grenada.” Ray smiled. “Fortunately, I have friends in high and low places. Given time, I can find anybody.”

29

Peta had returned to Grenada with a lot of thinking to do. Most of it was unpleasant at worst and difficult at best, so she was perfectly happy to find ready-made excuses to avoid it.

She got her wish. Independence Day festivities, just over, had increased her patient load. The newly arrived medical students, unruly as the ones before them, demanded far more than their fair share of attention. Not only did she have to help them in the classroom, but she was constantly needed to reassure angry landlords who wanted to kill the kids or sue their parents, whichever turned out to be simplest.

Her life developed a tedious rhythm. She worked. She slept. She ate. Now and then she had di

Now, suddenly, somehow, it was nearing the end of May.

Carnival wasn’t until August, the students had settled down, and fewer tourists than usual demanded her time. She even found herself with a whole weekend to spend sitting on her balcony. The postcard perfection of St. George’s and the Carenage provided her with a backdrop for a too-long-delayed replay of the happenings in her life since December.

Mostly, her mind was not so much filled with questions, but rather with answers she was loath to accept. For one thing, she was sure now that Frikkie—who had not so much as called with a trumped-up apology for the events at San Gabriel—didn’t care if the rest of the Daredevils were killed. In fact, though she had no proof, she suspected that he had been instrumental in killing Arthur.

Worse yet, thinking back to that night in New York almost five months ago, she remembered that Ray had gone to the restrooms a little while before Arthur. Ray was a demolitions expert. It would have been easy for him to rig a bomb in the toilet, wait for Arthur to enter, and then detonate it by remote control.

That would place Ray Arno squarely in cahoots with Frik.

But why?

What she needed was someone to talk to about all of this, someone she could trust completely.

With Arthur dead, that left only Ma

Since she was tired of her own company and her circular thoughts, around sundown on Sunday she left her house to find him.

Accompanied by the sound of church bells, she walked past the Parliament building and through the marketplace, abandoned this late in the day to island dogs and stray humans picking through the wilted leftovers of Saturday’s traffic. Rather than struggle over the hill on Young Street, she cut through Sendall Tu

When she passed the new Cable and Wireless building, she crossed the street to Aboo’s Bar.

The small, run-down blue shack doubled as St. George’s Grand Central Station for a certain class of people. Though Peta had chosen never to ask Ma

The bar itself was small and utilitarian. Ma

“Looking good.” He kissed her on one cheek, then the other, and handed her a bottle.

Peta smiled. “I’m glad to see you too.”

“You come all this way for a beer or—”

“I need to talk to you.” Peta drank deeply, hot after her long trek.

“So talk.” Ma

Peta settled herself on a worn barstool and lit a cigarette. Ma

“You’re hopeless,” Ma

“Probably.” She flicked into a piece of misshapen aluminum that passed as an ashtray. “There’s so much…I’m not sure where to begin.”

“The last time I saw you, you were headed up the hill in San Gabriel,” Ma

“Right. I was off to save Simon.”

“Did you?”

Peta shook her head. Like someone who had lost her place in a good novel and found it again, Peta was off and ru

“So you think Frikkie has it now?” Ma

“Absolutely.” She crushed her cigarette, reached for another, and thought better of it. Twirling the pack around like a top, she filled in Ma

Ma